


IT- The curse of Cairnholm island (Part 1)

by Yuna_McHill



Series: IT- The curse of Cairnholm island [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Supernatural/Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11246391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuna_McHill/pseuds/Yuna_McHill
Summary: After the little Claire Densmore ends up dead after playing with her paper boat in a rainstorm, Claire's grief-stricken brother Jake vows to find her killer. Little does he know that Claire's murderer is no simple man and that it's only the beginning of something terrifying. Can he and six other children find it in themselves to face their greatest fears together? Or will their fears conquer them first?





	1. Prologue: The death of Claire Densmore

 

As I've told you in the announcement, I'm working on this crazy crossover between IT and Miss Peregrine. I've already presented you the characters, so now I'll tell you a bit more about the changes I've made to the story to fit.

First of all, Cairnholm is said to be pretty small and 'antiquated'. I've made it a bit bigger and more professionally equipped, with a hospital, electricity and of course a sewer system, to be more like Derry.

Second, the children will not be family like in the Miss Peregrine universe, but will gradually meet as friends. Miss P will not be their mentor, but taking the role of the Big Good and supervise them from time to time.

It also has to be noted that I've changed some of the names and lines to make it original, while still trying to orientate myself on Stephen King's writing style. The original works belong to Stephen King and Ransom Riggs.

Ok, I think now you know everything you have to. So, without further ado, let's begin the perilous journey of the peculiar Lucky Seven.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X

Prologue: The death of Claire Densmore

The day Claire Densmore, youngest to the Densmore-Portman family, died was a rainy one. Not rainy like the occasional cold showers that bathed the island of Cairnholm and the town, no. It was as if the Heavens in person had been disembowelled and were now emptying everything onto the earth below. The rain was pouring constantly onto the houses and streets, flooding the sewer system and thus turning the pavement into a literal river. The temperature was dropping a couple of grades lower with every hour that passed. And yet...

Little Claire, how she was lovingly called by her family, was sitting on the window sill of her room and was bored. She'd love to go out and play outside in the rain, but no one had time for her. Her mother was playing "Für Elise" on the big piano in the salon, her father was at the beach helping Officer Sheldon to fill sand into sacks, hoping that these 'barricades' would act as a wall against the water masses, and her brother Jake was confined to bed, having fallen ill with a heavy flu. Suddenly, Claire's cornflower-blue eyes lit up with an idea. She quickly grabbed paper and her book about handicrafts and went to Jake's room.

Jake Portman still looked miserable, but considerably better than the last few days, where he had almost been to the point of hallucinating from the fever. His cheeks were still red and sweaty, but he looked up with sharp greyish-blue eyes. "Oh, hey, Claire. Don't come too close, you might get infected as well.", he greeted her, his voice still hoarse from all the coughing. "Jake, can you make me a paper boat, please? I want to play outside. Pleeeaaaase, can you?", the girl asked and fluttered her eyelashes while giving him her best puppy eyes. Her older brother smiled. She was just so funny when she tried to convince others... "Oh well, I've got nothing better to do anyway, so just give it here.", he sighed. After some fruitless attempts, he triumphantly held up the finished paper boat.

"Jake, you're the best!", Claire squealed happily. "It's not ready yet. Do you want your boat to sink or what? It needs to be made water-proof. But I will need a couple of things for it. The paraffin wax, a candle and a bowl. Could you fetch those? Bowls are in the kitchen, the candles are in the living room and the paraffin's in the basement.", Jake stopped and instructed her. The smile suddenly vanished from Claire's face. Why did it have to be the basement? But she only muttered: "Ok, big bro." and went down the stairs. She grabbed a cereal bowl from the cupboard and pushed open the drawer holding the candles very slowly as if she had all the time in the world. As much as she tried to dawdle though, sooner or later she ended up staring at the door to the basement with frightened big eyes, her teddy bear pressed close to her chest.

The basement... The place where the monster from her nightmares lurked, just waiting for her to step into its realm to grab her and drag her off to the rotting pitch black darkness. Little Claire gulped. Perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to ask Jake for a paper boat. They could have just sat together and he would tell her Grandpa Abe's stories... "Hey, what's the matter, sis? Got lost down there? The basement ain't that big, you know!", she then heard her brother's voice from above. "It's ok, Claire.", she told herself, taking a deep breath, "Just open the door and turn on the light. There is no monster..." She quickly yanked open the door and fumbled for the light switch. But just as she had pulled it upwards...

"Damn it!", she quietly hissed, voice high with panic, "The electricity's fried!" Yes, the storm had cut off all the power, leaving Claire to stare into a dark pit, barely illuminated by the natural light coming from the living room. The little blonde gulped. "Jake? Where exactly is the wax?", she called up, trying to keep her voice indifferent. "It's at the left side of the stairs, next to the box where mum keeps her sewing stuff!", Jake answered. Claire couldn't see it from there, but she knew where it was located. "Ok, just run to the box, grab the wax and run back up. It can't be so hard... Now, do it!", the little girl mouthed to herself. Then her legs moved forwards and she sped down the stairs into the darkness, screaming internally. Soon she reached the bottom and was standing on the cold ground of the basement.

Whimpering in a panic, she groped around. Her fingertips suddenly brushed the sewing box of her mother and traced over the mid-relief of the falcon on top of the lid. Inexplicably, she felt her racing heart calm down and almost felt as if the room got brighter. It still was dark, but not a frightening darkness. It was like standing in space, surrounded by millions of little stars, not enough to make it bright, but still. And if she closed her eyes and pretended, she could almost feel wings wrapping around her shoulders and eyes watching over her head. As if the falcon would protect her... But then her other hand closed around the wax and everything returned, the paper boat, the darkness and the hungry monster. Giving a little shriek, Claire let go of the falcon and ran up to the living room again, slamming the door shut with a loud THUD!.

With a heaving chest and trembling fingers, she entered her brother's room, dropping the wax, candle and the bowl on his nightstand. Jake laughed quietly: "Calm down, sis. Did you see a monster down there or what? Was your escape so close? Could he bite you? Like here? Or here? Or what about here?" At every question, the boy jabbed Claire playfully. "Stop it, Jake! Leave it be!", she squeaked, laughing as well. The siblings always played jokes on and threw innocent insults at each other, but no one took it seriously. It was obvious in everything they did, that they truly loved each other. "So, first I'm going to heat up a bit of the paraffin with the candle in the bowl...", Jake explained. He knew Claire loved it when he taught her how to do things.

When all the wax was a slightly transparent goo, Jake carefully dipped a finger into the hot substance. He grimaced at the heat biting into his skin, then shrugged it off and began to apply it on the whole surface of the paper boat. Claire was glad to help him once the wax was a little cooler. After the hardened paraffin covered the toy with a shiny coat, her brother reached for a marker on his desk and mumbling "Just the finishing touch...", he wrote 'SS Claire' on one side of the boat, adorned with a little crown at the end. "There. She's all ready, captain.", he proudly presented his work to Claire. Grinning from ear to ear, positively glowing, the little girl took the boat from him. For her, it seemed like the most precious and beautiful gift in the world. Because her brother had made it. "Thank you, Jake!", she told him and suddenly gave in to the overwhelming urge to give him a hug. That was followed by a quick kiss on the cheek. "Yuck!", the boy exclaimed, "Now you have my germs all over you, birdbrain!" It's your fault if you get sick now, Little Claire, I'm just saying... Now go outside and play, but don't forget to put your raincoat on or mum will go nuts."

"I wish you could come with me. It's your boat after all...", his sister admitted with a small frown. "No, sweetie, you know I can't. I'd only get sick again. But I promise we'll go fly a kite together when the weather clears up.", Jake smiled gently. Chuckling again, Claire ran into her room to change and Jake barely had time to lay his head on his pillow when she brushed past his door again. And suddenly, he felt terror boiling up in his stomach as if something horrible was going to happen without it being in his might to prevent it and he rose again, crying out: "Claire, wait!" Her golden-locked head peeked in and she asked, worried by her brother's very pale and frightened face: "What is it, Jake?" "P-p-please take c-c-care of yourself.", he whispered. Both were taken aback by the heavy stutter that had all of a sudden displayed itself. When the boy had been young, at the age of three, he had broken his jaw during an accident. After that, he had needed intensive speech therapy to recover his ability to speak freely. "Of course I will.", Claire smiled gently, after overcoming the nervousness about Jake's well-being. "I-I love you...", he stuttered, surprised by the sob wanting to rise in his throat. "I love you too.", his sister replied. Then she went out into the streets at last. Jake never saw her again.

The wind outside was chilly and Claire was glad that she was wearing a thick sweater and two pairs of leggings under her dress and bubblegum pink – she always referred to it as princess pink though – raincoat, completed by her rubber boots of the same colour. She carefully covered her golden locks with the hood of the jacket and started to look around for a place where her 'SS Claire' should start her maiden voyage. She decided on a thick stream of water near their house. "Anchors away and full speed ahead!", the child exclaimed gleefully as she launched her boat. And speed it had. Only seconds after it had hit the water, the toy was already a mile away, going downtown towards the junction of Witchhorn and Jordan Street.

Claire was running beside her new toy, laughing. She pictured in her mind of a six-year-old how it would be if she and her boat could run forever, out of Cairnholm, across the sea, beyond the sea. How many adventures she could have... They could meet other princesses with other paper boats in far away countries, engage pirates in daring swordfights... BANG! A sudden sharp pain on her forehead ripped Claire from her little daydream. She had collided with a street barrier in front of her, knocking her to the ground. The girl tried to sit up, still dizzy and in pain, when she saw her beloved boat drifting dangerously fast towards a storm drain! It had been caught in the current of water being sucked into the sewer. "No, no, no, no, NO! Don't go in there!", she cried out, coming to her feet and trying to reach it before it went down, but she was too late. Just as she was grasping it, the boat fell down into the dark hole in front of her.

"No...", she sighed sadly and, without really thinking about what she was doing, she knelt herself down in the curb swollen with water, trying to see if her gift had maybe gotten stuck somewhere. Well, any other child would have wiped their tears and run home to make another. It was a normal paper boat after all, not something irreplaceable like the Queen's jewels. But not Claire. Because her brother had made it just for her, with all his love. The toy wasn't just a nameless handicraft made of newspaper, no. It bore her name on the side and it had been sealed with a layer of paraffin wax that she had gotten from the realm of nightmares, the basement. It was something special. Claire leant in a little further. And suddenly she retreated with a shriek as if she had been stung by an adder. Two big yellow eyes were looking right at her out of the darkness.

"Hiya, Claire!" Just when the child had thought that it probably was just a cat or another animal stuck in the sewer, a voice began to speak to her. A head appeared in the storm drain, the head of a clown. Although he lacked the typical white facepaint of one (revealing his dark complexion), Claire recognized his profession instantly. His lips were bright red, with two sweeping lines of the same colour going up to and over his accented eyebrows. He wore white eyeshadow, trying to keep at least a bit of the clown's base colour intact. Tufts of red hair, sticking out in all directions, framed his face, which gave him a wild and funny appearance at the same time. "Aren't you gonna say Hello?" This was the moment Claire's basic instincts began to act up and she shook her head vehemently. The clown pouted, feigning hurt. "Oh, come on, lass, don't you want a balloon?" He suddenly conjured up a red balloon out of thin air and let it float beside him. Claire's hand began reaching out to it but pulled it back at the last moment.

"I'm not supposed to take stuff from strangers. Daddy told me that.", she muttered. White teeth flashed in the creature's mouth as he explained: "Your daddy is very wise, very wise indeed. I, Claire, am Mr Barron, also known as Pennywise the Dancing Clown. And you are Claire. So we're no longer strangers. Correct?" The young Densmore chuckled. This Pennywise man was amusing to her. If they had met properly, she was sure she would call him a friend by now. But he was in the sewers and she had a nagging feeling that she needed to go home, so she told him: "I guess so. I have to go now, so..." "Go?!", Pennywise interrupted her, his voice suddenly tinged with a cold and aggressive tone for a moment. "Without this?", she asked as friendly as ever and now held her boat between his gloved fingers, waving it before Claire's face.

The little girl squealed with delight. "My boat!" He had found it in the sewers and was returning it to her! "Exactly!", Mr Barron said cheerfully, "Come on, Little Claire, take it." Claire's hand reached for her toy, she was so close that her fingertips almost touched the paper... but she pulled away. Again. She felt her stomach contract painfully. In her mind, she still heard the danger in the clown's voice and her resolve started to waver. On one side, she wanted her boat really badly, so she could tell Jake afterwards how brave the boat had fared against the waves. But on the other hand, she wasn't sure anymore if Mr Barron was a friend... or something else. "Oh, but you want that pretty little toy of yours, don't you, Claire?", the man in the sewers whispered as if he could see the struggle going on inside Claire's blonde head. "Of course you want it. Aren't you curious as to how I got here?" Almost mechanically, the girl's hand bobbed up and down.

"The storm blew us all away, me and the circus. Can't you smell it, hear it?" And as if by some sort of magic, delicious smells hit Claire's nose and cheerful music filled her ears. It was if there really was a circus down there. Waiting for her... "There's not just your boat down there, there's also funny animals, cotton candy, all the rides you can think of and tons of surprises! And of course balloons. In any colour and shape that you can dream about!", Pennywise's voice reached her clearly through all the new impressions. She heard herself ask: "And tell me, do they float?" It was as if the clown's description of the circus had put her under some sort of trance or spell. "Oh, yes. They float. They float, Little Claire... And when you're down here, with me and all the others...", he explained, again a strange sound in his voice that Claire couldn't quite place, but which screamed danger and madness. But her hand drew closer and closer to her boat, so close now. There... she had it!

What happened next was nothing short of terrifying... As soon as Claire's little fingers had closed around the boat, Mr Barron aka Pennywise suddenly grabbed her arm and held it in a vice like grip. "YOU'LL. FLOAT. TOO!", he shouted. Claire began to scream, feeling sharp nails digging into her tender skin. With tears stinging in her blue eyes, she looked at the clown and what she saw drove her insane in one single second. The clown's face – she was doubting that he had ever been one after all! - was morphing into something by far more terrible than her monster from the basement. His yellow eyes were sparkling with bloodlust and a craziness that almost made Claire's little heart stop and when he growled at her, he revealed long razor sharp teeth.

Claire tried to arch her body away from the storm drain, but he pulled sharply and her head connected with the wet cement while her arm disappeared up to the socket in the sewer. Stars danced before her eyes and tears mixed with the endless stream of water dancing in the curb. Jake's sister was hysterically crying rivers by now, she was shaking on her whole body with horror and anticipation. Even though she was just a child, she knew she would not survive this day. "Everything here floats...", was the last thing she heard from her tormentor, in a deep voice as rotting as the debris and dead leaves down there. A sharp and disgusting ripping noise, searing unbearable pain, a shrill and piercing scream and Claire Densmore knew no more. The last thing that reached her ears before losing consciousness forever was the sad cry of a falcon. _"The falcon couldn't protect me this time..."_ , she muttered, before her still mouth filled with water.

Nevermore in his life would Jack Garlinger forget the sight awaiting him as he ran towards the motionless body on the street, lying in front of a storm drain. He had been having an early lunch when he had first heard the anguished screams of a child. Knowing that something was clearly wrong, he bolted out of the door into the street to see if he could be of any assistance. Jack mumbled in surprise: "Hey, isn't that the Portman-Densmore kid? What made her scream that loud?" But when he turned the body towards him, he let out a piercing cry himself. Claire's left arm was missing from the shoulder downward. It looked as if something had torn it right off. Blood was gushing out of the wound like a fountain and a fragment of bone peeked out, glinting like a morbid kind of pearl. It seemed like a miracle to Garlinger how he managed to not empty his stomach on site. Instead, he picked up the dead child, carried her to his house and wrapped her in a blanket. He knew what was coming next.

It was Jake who opened the door to Mr Garlinger. The man had tears in his eyes, a look of compassion and sorrow etched onto his pale face. In his arms, he carried a bundle. "What hap-...", he managed to say before the realization and the shock of the scene before him hit him like a blow of Arctic wind. He was carrying Claire and she was dead. Jake saw her little face, waxy and of an ashen colour, the expressionless cornflower-blue eyes, devoid of the brilliant light that once filled them. Without touching her, he knew that her skin would be ice cold under his fingers. A lump grew in his throat and he could feel his knees starting to give way under him, as he staggered back. "Mum!", he managed to yell before sliding down the wall and going into shock.

He felt like he had just been sliced open by a velociraptor. Whatever happened next, he only experienced it through a thick mist. He barely registered his mother shrieking as she saw the body of her daughter, then hyperventilating so hard that Mr Garlinger called the hospital. Barely heard the sirens of the little ambulance transporting all three – well, four – of them or the loud sobs of his father as he arrived at the clinic. Days passed with the boy feeling like a robot. He was doing the necessary things to survive, but emotionally he felt himself shutting down, staring at the wall of his room through a haze, no longer caring about wiping the tears escaping his eyes. Claire, his one and only, had died. He felt as if his world had shattered...

Jake began to thaw a bit when the day of his beloved little sister's burial came around. There he truly felt the compassionate hugs he received from the visitors, heard the chants that would grant his sweet Little Claire's soul a safe passage into Heaven and the tears he wept on this day were strangely cathartic instead of cold and desperate. Two things changed that fateful day: His childish stutter returned worse than ever before and he swore by the falcon watching them from the old oak on the cemetery that he would one day find the bastard that had torn his family apart. Little did everybody know that Claire's murder was only the beginning.

THE END

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X

**Sooo... The hunt has begun. I hope you like it, I'm already working on the next chapter. Stay safe, don't look into sewers, check your bathroom sinks and sweet dreams, guys! (evil Pennywise laugh)**

**Yuna**


	2. Chapter 1: Victor

**IT- The curse of Cairnholm island**

Welcome back to the next chapter of this hopefully thrilling and entertaining story! I hope no killer clown tried to enter your lives and that you're safe and eager to continue.

 

I will go mostly with the flow of the 1990 mini-series, combined with scenes from the book and recent movie in terms of development in this chapter. We'll see how the Loser's Club is slowly beginning to form. I'm aware that Stephen King dropped swear words and slurs on this book like whipped cream on a cake, but I'll try to be as polite as I can be. Talking about him, he has the rights to the “Your hair is winter fire” haiku.

 

That would be it for the author's note, so without further ado, let's plunge right into the first chapter!

 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X

 

Chapter 1: Victor

Victor Bruntley was more anxious than ever for the school bell to ring and release them into the summer holidays, for several reasons. The boy was twirling his pen tirelessly between his fingers, waiting for his teacher to give them the school report of the fifth year. Then he would finally get rid of his second reason: the most hated boy in probably the entire school, Henry Cowers, but only called Worm by almost everyone. Victor shivered and looked at the son of a farmer out of the corner of his eye. The boy in question was sulking in the farthest corner of the classroom, his feet propped up on his desk. He looked so pissed off that the young Bruntley quickly refocused on the lesson.

 

Henry Cowers, as Victor had already noted, was a tall boy aged 17. He was the only child of a farmer who had brought them to great wealth by building a farm on the outskirts of the city. That didn't mean by far that he felt sustained and happy though. He was never seen without his large sunny yellow tracksuit jacket and the gold chains wrapped around his thick neck. His dark hair was cut short and styled up at the front with hair gel, which reminded Victor of a certain comic book hero- only that Worm was nothing but a hero... He was slender, but very muscular, due to the heavy work he had to do at home. His brown eyes lacked any warmth, instead they were always filled with shadows so dark like the marks under his eyes, courtesy of the beatings his alcoholic father gave him far too often. A really compassionate soul might believe Henry deserved their pity, but how wrong they were!

 

Henry seemed to be constantly on the lookout for trouble and victims to bully. Victor's acquaintance Millard was sure he had seen the older boy more than once with a packet of Joints in his pocket, smoking secretly with his pals in a corner of the schoolyard, something strictly prohibited. Only a lucky few – like the rich girls, who had enough money to scare him off with a threat of a lawsuit – had come home without having to sport a bruise given to them by Cowers. Victor supposed that Worm's brain was split into two parts: 80% violence and 20% cleverness. He had already repeated the fifth grade once and by the murderous look he wore, he wouldn't be moving to sixth grade this year either. And Victor was partially at fault. During their last math test, his teacher Mrs Gordon had seated Victor and Henry next to each other. The bully had, of course, tried to copy from him, but the boy had bravely refused, despite his threats. Needless to say, he knew that Henry was now on the warpath with him.

 

“Attention, students!”, Mrs Gordon's voice ripped him from his thoughts. “I'll now give you your annual school report, so listen up.” One by one, she read their names and handed them the folders. They stood up, calmly went to the front, even bowed before the pleased teacher, but as soon as they had walked so serenely to the door... they broke into quiet cheers and ran along the corridor, into the beloved summer holidays. “Fiona Frauenfeld!” The girl in question rose from her seat and Victor held his breath when she passed by his desk. Fiona was from the poorer part of the city, which made her often the target of the richer girls' sneers, but that wasn't important in the least for Victor. Her clothes weren't form-fitting, but her good posture and solemn attitude made her appear like a princess in ragged clothing to him. She was wearing a washed-out pink tee shirt under a denim jacket with as many holes as a cheese and a skirt with Scottish pattern that seemed almost too big for her. She wore no socks under her spent sneakers. Fiona's long red hair was falling in two braids along her back. “Thank you, Mrs Gordon, have a nice holiday.”, he heard her say and he sighed inwardly. What a beautiful and polite creature she was...

 

“Victor Bruntley.”, the lady announced. Victor pushed aside his thoughts about Fiona and stood up, suddenly aware of his third and final reason to wish the school to finally be over: His body. The son of a veteran and a jewellery maker was no Adonis, to say the least. He was a stout boy with a face as white and round as a moon. Victor had quite the strength, but due to the 'heavy bones' he inherited from his father and the big plates of food his mother cooked - ever since his dad had died in the war, it seemed to be her favourite thing to do -, he actually looked more fat than muscular. He didn't dare to change in the public changing room with the other boys in physical education anymore, but preferred a bathroom stall, since they were always body-shaming him.

 

Victor stood up and went to the teacher's desk. Although it was very hot outside, almost 30 degrees in the shadow, he was wearing jeans and a thick grey sweater. He felt beads of sweat forming on the nape of his neck, but he chose to ignore them. The boy blushed slightly when he saw his hips pronounced like a girl's through the body-fitting fabric of his jeans. He already heard some quiet snickering behind his back but overheard it and took his diploma from his teacher with a smile. “I'm proud of you, Victor. You were a pleasure to work with this year.”, she told him quietly. Glad of the compliment, Victor thanked her and retreated. As the whole class already knew, Worm hadn't passed to sixth grade again. He took the news of having to go to summer school begrudgingly with a hint of fear. He was probably already imagining the beating he would receive from his father when he returned home. When he passed by Victor's seat, the thick boy heard his voice menacingly in his ear: “I swear to you, you fat pig, you're so done...”

 

5... 4... 3... 2... 1... DING-DANG-DONG! The loud bell finally officially announced their freedom. All children remaining in the classroom cheered loudly and grabbed their jackets and bags in a heartbeat. “I wish you a happy holiday! Enjoy it and relax!”, Mrs Gordon shouted over the voices. Victor returned her wish and stepped into the sunlit schoolyard. He instinctively scanned his surroundings for Worm and his gang. They were nowhere to be seen, but who knew when they would appear, like wicked apparitions in a haunted house? “I heard that you're good but do you like the school so much that you'd willingly stay here?”, he heard a female voice beside him and jumped. It was Fiona, smirking at him.

 

“Fi- Fi- Fiona! Hy. Yes... um, no. I mean... Oh, I'm making a complete fool of myself, right?”, he stammered, blushing hopelessly. The girl chuckled and admitted: “Yeah, a bit. But it's cute. So, are you going to stand here all day or do you have plans to go somewhere?” Taking a deep breath, Victor straightened his back and replied: “I... I need to go to the library to get some books for the holidays. And you?” “I have to get home now. I want to help my mom with lunch. So, see you, Victor Bruntley.”, she smiled and hopped down the stairs, her braids bouncing on her back, glistening like rubies in the sun. “See you... Fiona Frauenfeld.”, he whispered, blushing. Which had nothing to do with the heat outside. Sighing contentedly, Victor straightened his back and made his way to the library, whistling a happy tune.

 

On his way, Victor passed by a group of women with posters in their arms. Their faces looked troubled and sleep-deprived. A few of them were crying. Out of a mix of compassion and curiosity, the boy examined one of those posters already pinned to a post more closely. The cold expressionless eyes of one named Jack Bentham stared back at him. The young Bruntley swallowed thickly. Jack Bentham was rumoured to be one of the worst kids on the whole island. His appearance was scrawny, pale, almost sickly, but everyone who had ever crossed his path knew that this was just a mask. For what he lacked in strength, he made up tenfold with the psychotic tendencies he expressed. His soul seemed to be made of nothing but cruelty and the desire to bring pain and trauma to others. He was sometimes seen hanging out with Henry and his gang, something that Victor didn't wish to encounter even in his worst nightmares. The combined evil of Worm AND Jack... The boy instinctively walked faster, eyes glued to the ground.

 

He was woken from his stupor when he collided with a bronze shield. It read “Welcome to Cairnholm Library”. Before him, a majestic old building rose into the sky. It was made of red bricks and had a tiled roof. The sun made the stained-glass windows on the library's facade glisten. But what impressed Victor the most was the glass tunnel connecting the adult and children section of the library. He always took his time walking through it, pretending that it was a portal, leading into another world full of mysteries and magic. And then... he was there. His favourite place to be, his sanctuary where he could seek shelter from the world and forget it and its sorrows. Even though the children section had been built long after the adult one, it still smelled like old books and ancient knowledge in there, found Victor.

 

He sat down at a reading table that was still unoccupied. “Can I help you, sir?”, a young library worker approached him. “Yes, please. Do you have the book 'History of Cairnholm'? I'd like to borrow it for the holidays.”, he answered. While the girl went looking for it, Victor's gaze fell upon a stand of postcards in the middle of the room, selling them for a few bucks. Without hesitating, he paid for one that showed a bird's eye view of the island and returned to his table. He took out his fountain pen and placed the tip on the card. The boy knew instinctively what and to whom he was going to write. A picture of Fiona appeared before his inner eye, her red braids flowing around her as if the wind was playing with them. “Your hair is winter fire...”, he murmured, his pen scribbling down the words automatically, “January embers...” In his finest penmanship, he finished the little haiku, his stomach hot with love for the girl. “My heart burns there too. Finished.” A dedication to Fiona, beautiful, goddess-like, graceful Fiona...

 

“Excuse me, sir.”, the library worker approached him again, interrupting his thoughts. “I'm afraid we don't have the book you're looking for on the shelves.”, she explained. “Oh.”, said Victor, “That's not a problem. I might be able to find it in the archives. But thank you for looking anyway.” He put the postcard into the pocket of his sweater and made his way to the back of the library. Since he spent his days so much more in the library than outside, he knew almost exactly where everything was, from the toilets to the archives. Usually, he would have gone in straight away, picked his book and go out again in the blink of an eye, but today... He felt as if his steps were unwillingly slower than he wanted them to be, the butterflies in his stomach replaced by lead. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he was seeing a red balloon float by, almost bumping into an old lady, but when he turned to look, there was nothing in sight. Thinking that the heat outside was still playing tricks on his mind, Victor decided to shrug it off, yet the uncomfortable feeling in his gut remained.

 

The archives were situated lower than the rest of the building and were thus colder as well. When Victor stood at the top of the stairs leading to the rows of shelves filled with old books, he recalled an important, albeit gruesome event that had occurred on the island a good hundred years ago. It had been Easter Sunday, children and their parents gathering at the Cairnholmer Ironworks for an Easter egg hunt. An air draft hit him in the face and for a short moment, Victor thought it smelled of metal and ash mixed with chocolate. He started to make his way down the stairs. There had been an explosion, which had caused 88 casualties, many of them the very children that had participated in the hunt. One of the worst tales about that fateful day included a little boy whose head had been ripped from his body by the force of the explosion. It had been found stuck in a tree a few days later. The Bruntley boy resisted the urge to gag. What a horrible way to die...

 

Suddenly, the so familiar archives seemed darker and more frightening and Victor broke into a jog as his eyes flitted over the book titles to find what he was looking for and get out of there as soon as possible. His breathing quickened and the bad feeling in his stomach intensified. There! He grabbed ‘History of Cairnholm’ and ran back towards the exit. He was almost there when he saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned around. He instantly wished he hadn’t… A headless boy was standing motionlessly on the other end of the archives. But as soon as he noticed that Victor had seen him, he came running at him with inhuman speed. It was the same boy he had thought about a moment ago, the young victim from the Ironworks explosion! Victor felt like screaming and puking at the same time but could do neither. What was that?! The boy started reciting a prayer in his mind when a higher force seemed to open his mouth to speak following words: “By the power of the Falcon, leave me alone!”

 

The demonic creature screeched and he closed his eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came. When he dared to open them again, the decapitated ghost was gone and the archives seemed once more familiar and lighter. With trembling legs, Victor managed to climb up the stairs without collapsing. Pale as death, he passed the book over the reception desk and waited for the girl to hand it back to him so he could put it in his backpack, trying to hide his shaking hands. Then he made a beeline for the doors as if thousands of angry demon boys were hot on his tail. He imagined he must look pretty crazy, but all he cared for right now was to get out of there. Sunshine hit him straight in the face when he broke through the library’s entrance, chasing away the cold and scary feelings. Victor took a few deep breaths to compose himself and let his heart rate lower back to normal. That had been the most horrifying stay in the library he had ever experienced! He secretly hoped that nothing unfortunate would happen on the rest of the day. But as he looked up again, this hope shattered. Worm and his clique were standing on the other side of the street, staring right back at him!

 

END OF CHAPTER 1

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**Sooo, darlings. Welcome Victor Bruntley aka Ben Hanscom! Based on the Miss Peregrine movie’s photos of him, he had a good-natured round face and a stout body, which was the closest I could find to match Ben’s thickness in the book and movies. I cast Worm as Henry Bowers as well and I think Fiona as Beverly doesn’t need much explanation, does it?**

**I had to include the library scene from the movie, it was delightfully scary. Everyone who knows IT will probably guess what will happen and who we will meet in the next chapter. But until then, stay away from sewers, take salt or iron with you if you go into libraries and stay safe in general.**

 


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